Change Isn't Changing
by Kiar Fero
Summary: Two children of District one, a boy and a girl, meet for the first time in the street during a heavy rainstorm. They realize they can find a friend in each other, and maybe something more? Note: This is an RP RolePlay that I am doing with another person, as such the writing styles of the two characters are different. This also is why the endings to the chapters may seem odd.
1. Chapter 1 Stolen Volume

**Chapter One – Stolen Volume**

**{Emery . Allade-Moreno }**

Change hasn't changed me. I've lived in various different homes, I've had various different guardians, I've been surrounded by various different people, yet even after all of the changes I've had to adapt to, I still feel like the same person. Sometimes I just can't distinguish whether this is positive or negative, whether I like being the same or whether I seek to be different. And even more often, it seems better not to merely keep my mind off of those ideas.

I suppose what really troubles me is the fact that I'm still angry. I still hate my life, even though there's almost no one or nothing to be angry at. The fury that had consumed me back when my brother still taunted me day and night is still a plastered image in my brain. Somehow, though, I can't release the anger and the energy and the stubborn senses that have shaped my character. I'm angry. I'm really angry. And yet, I no longer have reason to be.

Stepping over a puddle, I walk through the rain, holding my arms tightly across my chest. I watch as people around me jog through the storm, seeking their destination quickly. Yet, I walk with my usual poise, refusing to rush. I'm not necessarily avoiding my home, just taking a break. As intruiging as it can be, I need my alone time.

Throughout my past, I've been seen in so many different ways. Once, I was just an innocent child, cute, funny, little. Another time, I was the little girl deemed psychologically disturbed, even though, quite honestly, my brother was the one to be feared. And now, I often feel small, like the weakling. All those years of being considered dangerous adds up to nothing now. I live in a house full of people picked because that's what they are: dangerous, strong, clever, feared. When you compare me with the rest of my adopted "siblings", there's no dishonesty in saying I'm probably the least troubling of them all.

At the same time, it feels good. It feels good to know that someone actually saw something in me, something worth their time and efforts. I never really thought about being a Career in the past; my family didn't have the resources nor the money nor the discipline for such an idea, yet now I'm thinking, maybe.

Just maybe.

Too often do I feel empty as the angry fire that my brother started continues to burn down a future that hasn't even been built yet. The way I seem to plant myself in my past, only further disconnects me from the world in front of me. Maybe it's about time to start thinking about who I am, who I want to be. Maybe it's about time to pull myself out of the hole of scarring memories I've buried myself in. Digging deeper into my past isn't a good idea.

My hair is soaking at this point, but it feels good, feeling the raindrops bounce against my shoulders. The goosebumps that run along my arms only remind me that I'm alive: something I've been a bit unsure about for the past few months. Alive has always been a touchy word for me, because for a while, I didn't know what it meant. Even back in third grade.

_Ms. Samuels, can you be alive and dead at the same time?"_

_"I'm sorry, Emery. I guess I don't understand what you're trying to say." Silence filling the room, suspicious stares from the rest of the class...yep, weird girl speaks again._

I finally spot a decent destination: the bookstore. I open the door and when the man at the counter smiles at me, I quickly look away, nervously weaving my hands together. I don't like meeting people's eyes. I walk down the first aisle, shelved with history books and science books. History: I almost laugh. Everything's changed, but nothing's changed. Just like me.

My eyes flicker over to the fiction aisle, but I decide against it. Somehow, history seems like an intruiging concept today. I can tell most people tend to avoid this aisle, just like they often ignore me. "Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it." I repeat the words softly, remembering them, yet forgetting where I had last heard them.

"And those who irritate Emery Allade-Moreno are doomed to a serious nosebleed," I add. Stupid and not very catchy, but true. I giggle a bit; it had been so long since the last time I'd laughed. So, finally, I grab a random book from the shelf, sink to the floor, and open it to the first page.

It ttakes quite a bit of patience just to get into it, and I immediately wonder why I am immersing myself in such a book. I could easily find a more entertaining one down the other aisle. Yet, I want to give the book a chance, just like I want people to give me a chance.

So after about fifteen minutes of yawning and trying to get through the first two pages, I start over again. And again. Until I finally make it to page twenty. Then, I pick up the book and slipped it into the bag over my shoulders inconspicuously.

I've stolen enough times before to know how it's done. Still, it seems silly to steal a book. When I think about the lower districts, I wonder what they steal on a daily basis: food, probably. So starving they might not make it through the day. Shrugging, I walk out of the aisle and out of the store, keeping my head down the entire time. Clear.

The moment I exit the shop, I crash right into someone jogging through the rain. I fall from the impact, landing in a puddle of water, and lose my grip on my bag. It slips away, its contents spilling across the sidewalk. Immediately, I try to spot the book, realizing that if the bookstore owner were to look out his window right now, I'd be busted. I spy the stolen book a few feet away, behind the person who had just knocked me over. When I look up at him, I see an older, taller boy. Not too old, but older than me at least.

"Watch where you're going," I mumble under my breath, anger filling my insides. This boy is just another obstacle in my way. Quickly, I struggle for my bag, getting off my butt and onto my knees instead. I reach for the book, still crawling across the ground in hope to retrieve my stuff.

"Give me that," I say sharply, hoping that the boy will be enough of a gentleman to hand me the book that's still out of my reach.

Still scowling, I try to stand up, but I slip and accidentally fall right back into the puddle I'd landed in the first time. "Oh gosh," I say almost with a giggle, flashing a tiny smile across my red face.


	2. Chapter 2 Errands

**Chapter Two – **

**{Rolex . Ghram}**

_And now you're dead inside_

_Still you wonder why_

_When you're on the edge and falling off_

_It's all over for you_

Of all the times he was told to go out and do something, why did it have to be now? Heavy drops fell from his eyelashes as he blinked, scattering the little light showing through the clouds into glints and smears. Then again, when did his parents ever care about him, let alone what he wanted. Never. They never did, and they probably never would. They only paid any attention to him when they wanted something, unless they had gotten word from his trainer about his accomplishments. Even then, a simple "that's my boy" was all he ever got as praise. Now they wanted him to run errands when he had been about to go train, and he had to go to a hundred different places. Not to mention it was raining.

Of course it was raining, it was just his kind of luck. It wasn't just lightly sprinkling either, or even a regular rain. That simply wouldn't fit the already frustrating situation he was in. No, it had to pour; like the whole of the ocean had been sucked up into the sky and released over this little area of District one. _Screw the rain, and screw my parents. They could have waited._ It was true, the tasks his parents had thrown at him were not things that really needed to be done, they were merely conveniences. _Parents._ His thoughts were bitter, but what else would you expect from a boy in his situation.

Thankfully, he had completed all of his tasks and had taken everything back home. He didn't get any thanks as he put away the items he had bought, instead he was snapped at by his mother because the stuff had gotten wet. How tempted he had been to yell at her, or hit her, or even run away_. Perhaps I should run away, I might have a better life if I do, because the one I'm in right now sucks._ It wasn't even like he had his sister around to confide in anymore, and his brother had died years ago. There was no one at home that he could turn to.

Now he was finally on his way to do something he wanted to do, and that was train. It was his way of blowing off steam, of letting out his emotions without having to explain everything. He had heard people say that rain washes away problems, dragging bad feelings away in the droplets as though cleaning away dirt. Well, it wasn't working for him. His shoulders were still stiff with anger, and a hard glint still resided in his eyes. No, Rolex Ghram was not feeling any better for being soaked.

He was jogging through the streets, whether to get to his destination faster or to feel like he had a purpose he didn't know. It certainly wasn't in order to stay as dry as possible, he was already soaked to the skin and dripping from everywhere. His hair lay flat on his head, and his green eyes were narrowed against the rain. The drops on his eyelashes continued to shatter the gloomy scene before him with the occasional scatter of sparkles. His feet splashed through innumerable puddles, making a squishing noise at every step. There was no doubt that he would need a change of clothes after he arrived at his destination. The question was how many towels it would take to dry him.

He was jogging past the bookstore, looking into the shop windows before turning his head to glance at the place across the street, when he collided with something. Or should he say, someone. Startled slightly by the impact, he turned his head sharply to look at who he had run into. On the ground before him, sitting one of the many puddles in the street, was a girl a little younger than he was. She looked to be only about a half-foot shorter than him, and was looking up at him with dark eyes. He paused for a moment to blink, trying to judge what action to take. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but couldn't think of anything. Should he try to apologize, or should he tell her off? The girl on the ground gave him no more time to decide, scowling at him as she mumbled, "Watch where you're going."

Slightly dumbstruck at the harsh tone she had used with him, he just stood there and watched as she shifted from sitting to kneeling. She began to crawl towards a spot just behind him, and he turned his head to see a small bag near her, laying on the soaking ground, getting drenched by the unending rain. A little further away was a book, as wet as the bag and seemingly new. She had managed to get the bag by the time he looked back, but seemed to be unable or unwilling to reach further for the book. Without looking up at him, she snapped, "Give me that," pointing to the book. It took him a moment to shake the bit of a stupor he had been in enough to realize that she had just asked him to do something.

Before he could reach for the book, he saw that she was trying to stand. Watching her in case she attacked him, _thank you very much Career brain,_ he saw her slip and fall back into the puddle he had knocked her into. "Oh gosh," he heard her say, giggling. He noticed she was smiling, and turned away to grab the book before she could see that he had grinned at her antics. Bending to grab the now dripping book, he shook it out, buying time for him to straighten his features enough that she might not notice his amusement.

He ran a hand through his hair, making it momentarily stand up in large spikes. He let himself smile at her now, feeling the expression shift into a grin. He was such an idiot sometimes, for all he could be strategic. "Sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was going." He held out the book to her, still looking like a fool, his mouth set into a lopsided grin. His green eyes met her dark ones and he felt his expression become even more crooked. He shifted the book into his other hand, extending his free hand to her as a means of getting up. "You alright?" He tried not to laugh as he though over the situation; both of them were in the middle of the street, soaked to the skin and getting even wetter as they remained in the torrential downpour, and here he was, hold out his hand and a book to a girl he had just knocked over.

_Sometimes, I can't help but smile at my idiocy._


	3. Chapter 3 Meeting

**Chapter Three - Meeting**

**{ Emery . Allade-Moreno }**

What I've ultimately come to realize throughout the last few weeks, or even the last few years, is that coping with loneliness has only makes me more lonely. They all say that change is a growth of some sort, a realization. But I disagree. Change is still the same thing it's always been: a new home, new parents, a new life. Change isn't supposed to lead to a new Emery; no, it's supposed to be an alteration in the natural order of events. I suppose when your whole life is just turning and changing and twisting itself into this deformed mess of memories, hopes, and dreams, it's hard to be the same person.

I've always been a stubborn person, since the first day I can remember. Ask anyone; they'll tell you I never left an argument without getting the last word in, I never let go of a grudge without receiving my revenge, and I never, absolutely never, gave in to the temptations of change. If you look at it from one perspective, you could say I am afraid of what change will do to me, and that wouldn't be entirely wrong. On the other hand, I like to consider myself stronger than change. It must be some sort of pride thing, rising above everything that's happening around me and staying true to myself. Yet, whether it's a fear or a strength still remains a question to the public. Because I like to keep things simple, I consider it a strength. You don't always have to be strong to feel strong. Rather, those who feel strong are the ones who truly triumph.

Still sitting on the ground in the middle of the rain, I look back up at the boy in front of me and think of how nice it would be to just lie down here and let the rain falling on my face become my reality. How would it feel to just be one of those people who can let loose and do whatever they want? It would. But that's not me. The only time I let loose is when I'm in a fight, when I'm angry. Suppressing the frown upon my face, I suddenly regret my giggling behavior. That's not Emery Allade-Moreno. Emery Allade-Moreno isn't supposed to be sitting on the ground, waiting for this boy to help her up.

Quickly, I snatch the book from his hands, I take a glance back through the bookshop window, hoping the shopkeeper hadn't seen what just happened. I look at the boy's other hand, held out for my assistance. Wanting to maintain my strength and independence, I stand up on my own, tightening my grip on my book. I don't need help, nor do I want it. I'm not supposed to be some frail little girl, flirting with every older guy she meets on the streets. I'm supposed to be a Career. The name sounds so honorable in my head. Satisfying. That's what I am now.

My realist views, my indifferent behavior, and my cries for consistency in character often keep me from understand happiness in times like these. While I'm often rash when it comes to my anger, my rash behavior only extends so far. Having stood up, I flip open the book in my hands. The pages are soaked, melting away. Even some of the ink has been smeared.

Everybody has their ridiculous connections, ridiculous feelings of attachment, and right now, this history book is mine. History and I have too much in common. Always changing but never really changing at all, put on such a high pedestal yet always ignored; yet now, the book was pretty much ruined. Of course, history was still the same, but one little piece of it has just been miscommunicated, ignored, with the results of these ruined words. One less person out there understood the texts in this book, and right now, that person is me. Is this my fate? To fade away, to watch as the world around me, all the people who think they know who I am, fail to understand the human under my dead brown eyes?

Realizing I've taken my sentimental energy a bit too far, I bite my lip and slip the book back into my bag, repositioning it on my right shoulder. "Sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was going," the boy says. "You alright?" I try to keep my gaze off of his face, attempting to stop the thoughts that have made me so susceptible. It's okay to be polite, but it's not okay to be open. Being open leads to manipulation which leads to pain which leads to anger which leads to change which leads to everything all over again. It's not that I'm afraid of trust; I never trusted my brother and he still hurt me. Rather, I'm afraid of weakness. It was my own weakness, my own ignorance, that allowed my brother to turn me into the monster I am today. And yet, I'm too afraid that if I prove myself to be anyone but that monster, I'll be weak again.

Sometimes, I remember the whispers, the beliefs, and the suspicions that I was a mentally disturbed child. Even more often, I start to wonder if the suspicions were true. So much confusion fills my head-thoughts I can't sort out. It always seems easier to forget about it and just be the monster that my brother made everyone think I was. Even though he's gone now.

But easy isn't always right.

Remaining subtly polite but not precisely open, I respond to the boy's lopsided smile with one of my own. His smile seems friendly but almost clueless or even awkward; in a nice way, I suppose."Yeah I'm alright," I say, looking down at my soaked clothing. "I would've gotten just as wet anyways." I look up at the rain, still pouring. I let my smile grow a few centimeters larger as I look back at the boy. Time to go now, I think. Time to stop letting your hopes get the best of you.

I know it would be best to walk away now. When life changes on you so often, there's not much you can do but remain true to yourself and keep your trust arms length away. I want to talk to this boy, but there's still that hopelessness that nags at me and pulls me apart from the things that I want.

My smile fades a bit and I look down at the ground shyly, letting my soaking hair weigh me down. It always strikes me at how reserved I can be in the ordinary public, whereas so confident in a fight. I let my eyes wander a bit, searching for a place to stop and dry off. The bookstore is right next to us, but I don't want to reenter that place for obvious reasons. When I look to the other side of the street, I see the training gym, situated as always. Every time I see the training gym, I get curious. Because of my past families' financial positions, I never had weapons or a private trainer that I could call my own. Not like the people who went all out with it. I look back up at the boy, caught by his eyes, suddenly wondering whether he is a Career. He looks like one: definitely seems to have the build.

"We should probably get out of this rain," I say loudly and finally, trying so hard to speak over the drumming sound of despair falling from the sky.


End file.
